Kalo popped up in the back, tongue hanging out of her mouth as I took in the skyline in the distance, complete with the Saints football stadium. “New Orleans?”
Emery pulled his sunglasses off, dropping them into the center console. “Hope you like gumbo.”
The hotel was nice.
Really nice.
I sank down into the mattress of the bed closest to the door, stretching my legs out and rubbing Kalo’s head as I looked around. We were right in the middle of the French Quarter, and the rich golds and deep reds of the bedding and curtains in our room made me feel like I’d stepped back in time. It was a small room, and the architecture was straight out of the twenties, the tall arches and intricate windows, but it was regal. And expensive, that I knew without asking.
Emery dropped his bag onto the opposite bed, eyes on his hands as he unzipped it and shifted through, pulling items out and plopping them onto the comforter. I was still looking around, stomach dropping at the thought of how much it cost to be in the center of the city, where everything was happening, in a hotel this beautiful.
“I can help pay for the room,” I finally said, though my throat was dry with the offer. I had money saved, but I’d still planned on saving for a few more months. I needed to make what I had last, and that wasn’t going to happen if we kept staying in places like this.
“Not necessary,” Emery said, fishing out a small black toiletry bag. “I’m going to take a quick shower, if you want to do the same after I’m done. Then we can go grab dinner and explore a bit?”
My stomach flipped, and I hated it. “Sure.”
I smiled, tucking my hands under my thighs, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He eyed my feet, and in a second all the blood in my face washed away.
Here it comes.
I waited for him to ask, to point it out, to look at me with pity and sorrow.
But he didn’t do any of that.
“You’re short,” he said, matter of factly. “Like, really short.”
“I’m five foot,” I defended with a chuckle. “It’s not that short.”
Emery quirked a brow. “I’ve seen taller fifth graders.”
“Weren’t you going to take a shower?”
He smirked, heading for the bathroom without another word. When the door clicked closed behind him, I breathed a sigh of relief, popping up from the bed to retrieve Kalo’s food from my bag. The little food and water bowl I’d picked up from the gas station popped up like a kid’s toy, making bowls from flat plates, and I poured the pebbles in before reaching for my water bottle and emptying the remaining contents into the opposite bowl.
“Dinner is served,” I said to her, rubbing behind her ear as she hopped down from the bed and went to work devouring the food first. I stretched my arms over my head, walking to the window and opening the curtain.
The sun had already set, one of my least favorite parts of fall. The days were too short, the sunshine too brief, but nighttime in New Orleans looked a lot brighter than it did in Mobile. The lights twinkled from the street below, the crowd already large and loud, the night alive.
I sifted through the clothes I’d brought, realizing I had definitely not prepared for going out. Sitting in a car? I had clothes for that. But going out on the town with Emery Reed in New Orleans? Yeah, I had nothing.
I heard the shower kick on as I settled on a simple, thin black t-shirt that tied in a knot at the front and a pair of dark jeans. I set the clothes to the side, along with my own toiletries, and then I plopped down on the bed again, looking at Emery’s stuff spread out on the other.
My eyes flicked across the heaps of clothing and came to land on a thick, leather-bound book with a thin ribbon of the same leather marking a page in the middle. I tilted my head, eyeing it curiously before crossing the small space between the beds and picking it up.
I knew it wasn’t polite to touch his things, especially without asking, but that didn’t stop my fingers from brushing across the worn cover, or tracing the frayed edges of the paper, or flipping it open to the first page and breathing a little shallower when my eyes found skinny, messy script inside.
Grams wants me to start a journal.
She bought me this because she said it looked manly enough for me to maybe give it a shot. I still don’t want to do it, but it’s Grams, and she knows whatever she asks me to do, I will.
My therapist told me to start a journal a few months ago and I, politely, of course, told her to fuck off.
She wanted me to write about my feelings.
I told her I didn’t have any.
But Grams said I should write out my thoughts, that I should write about the good days and the bad days to see what triggers each. She wants me to write about the dreams I’m having. I’m already annoyed just from writing this, so I doubt I’ll stick to it.
I never stick to anything.
I slammed the book shut, hand splayed on top of the front cover with my eyes bulging out of my head as I looked around like someone had seen me. Kalo was the only one, and she didn’t seem to care as she lapped up the last of her water and jumped back onto the bed, circling the foot of it twice before flopping down.
It’s his journal.
My heart beat loud in my ears as I looked back down at the leather, thumb tracing the stitching at the edge of it before I slowly flipped it back open.
This is wrong. This is private. This isn’t meant to be seen.
A loud tropical beat sounded from across the room and I jumped, nearly flinging the journal across the room.
It was my phone, and I shook my head, making sure the journal was right where I found it before grabbing the ringing device from where I’d left it on my bed.
“Well, hello, best friend,” I answered, flattening a palm over my racing heart as I sat on the edge of my bed.
“Don’t ‘hello, best friend’ me,” Lily snapped. “Why did I get a notification that you shared your location with me? And WHY ARE YOU IN NEW ORLEANS RIGHT NOW?”
My eyes skirted to the bathroom, the sound of the water running still filling the otherwise silent room. “Because I left Mobile.”
“I can see that. It feels kind of creepy, actually, watching your little dot move across the map.”
“For good.”
She paused. “Wait… are you… is this it? Oh, my God, are you on your way to Seattle?!” Someone shushed her in the background. “Oh shut up, like you need complete silence to study for biology.”
“Where are you?” I asked on a laugh.
“The library. It’s where I live now that I’m in my core classes.” Someone shushed her again. “Bite me!”
Lily was in her third year at the University of Illinois, slowly but steadily working toward her degree in speech therapy. She’d had the worst lisp when we were younger, and if it weren’t for her own therapist, she’d likely still have it. She wanted to be just like the girl who’d worked with her, helping young kids work through speech impairments. As happy as I was for her when she finally overcame it, I was thankful she had that lisp. Our imperfections brought us together — her speech, my leg — and without her friendship, I wouldn’t have made it through high school.
“Why don’t you just text me?” I suggested, but my heart tightened, hoping she wouldn’t hang up. We barely talked on the phone anymore, almost always texting, and I missed her. She was the closest thing I had to a sibling, and her family was the only reason I believed a house could really be a home, if the right people were inside it.